


Defector

by ultrachildish



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, First Meetings, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 11:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrachildish/pseuds/ultrachildish
Summary: As Wilson makes it to his door, before he can even reach the doorknob, he feels something hard pressed against his back and he stiffens.“Don't make a sound.” It comes out gravelly and rough, like the guy hasn't spoken in who knows how long. “Put your hands up where I can see them, open the door, and walk inside slowly.” Sam does as he's told, his heart hammering against his chest.





	Defector

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Bucky is an ex-supervillain and Sam is the tech genius that helps him out kinda.

It took Him long enough, but He finally fuckin' did it!

 

He had spent the latter half of His life holed up in some dingy cellar awaiting orders _“subduing” targets_ and _“incapacitating” known possible enemies_. It was sick – twisted!

 

Disgusting.

 

Being brainwashed to work for some secret, undercover bullshit Nazi organization with the goal to do fuck all. He couldn't even remember His own fucking name or how long He'd been under. It's pathetic, really.

 

What He could remember, and relish in absolute glee – and not in a demented way – was the horrified expression on Rumlow's face when He grabbed him and shoved his head through a case of hazardous chemicals and the gurgling noises he made marrying in with his screaming.

 

The not-so-great outcome of His major fuck up, however, was how His mechanical left arm - that HYDRA was able to ever so graciously gift him - is completely useless. He's basically carrying around dead weight and it's doing nothing but slowing him down.

 

He's hiding behind a dumpster, marinating in the shadows as He waits for the target – no.

 

Not target. _Person of interest_. As He waits for this person of interest outside of their apartment.

 

Before His... resignation, He was able to rip some intel on some notable individuals who were proficient in electrical engineering and physics, and a slew of other things. One name in particular...

 

Samuel Thomas Wilson.

 

Born September 17th, 28 years old, lives alone, one parent – stop.

 

This wasn't an order, more like a cry for help, no reason to get all impersonal. Well, maybe not a _cry_ for help. There was no crying, just hours of shouting at nothing. Wilson was found to be no threat to HYDRA,so they had no reason to waste their precious time on this particular individual. Fortunately for him.

 

He stills and slows His shallow breathing when He spots a figure step out of what He has confirmed to be Wilson's apartment door with a bag.

 

The first thing He notices about Wilson is he's wearing a calf-length silk robe. Then smooth dark skin glowing in the moonlight, which contrasts with the shining reflection of his thick glasses. Then came the outline of his arms and – oh shit he's coming this way! Wilson's just taking out the trash.

 

He is completely motionless when Wilson walks towards Him to throw his bag in the dumpster and as Wilson turns to retreat back into his home, He makes sure to follow at least a few paces behind unheard.

 

As Wilson makes it to his door, before he can even reach the doorknob, he feels something hard pressed against his back and he stiffens.

 

“Don't make a sound.” It comes out gravelly and rough, like the guy hasn't spoken in who knows how long. “Put your hands up where I can see them, open the door, and walk inside slowly.” Sam does as he's told, his heart hammering against his chest.

 

. . .

 

Sam's chest is tight and his breathing has halted. It's real perfect timing that this shit happens tonight. Just wonderful!

 

They go inside and the man shuts and locks the door behind him.

 

“Look, man I don't want any trouble. Just take what ever you - “ Sam swings his left arm behind himself at the man's head, surprising him as his arm knocks the mans balance off. In his captor's mild stupor, Sam was able to snatch the gun out of his intruder's grasp with his other hand.

 

And now Sam had the gun.

 

“Hands up!” Slightly shaking as he pointed the gun with both hands firmly grasped around it, Sam was able to inch away from the man to put some distance between them before he tried to do anything funny.

 

The man just stood there, wide-eyed. Icy blue eyes glaring into brown that's been amplified behind thick lenses. He slowly lifted his right hand to eye level, while the left stayed limp.

 

“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Sam demanded. One look at the would-be assailant and Sam could tell that he was more than just some cracked out burglar.

 

In what seemed like the longest stand-off in existence, the man finally opened his mouth.

 

. . .

 

“I need your help.” Wilson took a glance at His left arm, then back into His eyes. It only took a second for realization to dawn on his gorgeous – er no, not gorgeous. On his regular face.

 

He doesn't know why, but the obnoxious cackle that rumbled from Wilson did something to His chest. It was like all He could do was stare at Wilson's mouth as he said 'hell no' and some other things. The little gap peaking from between his lips was something He'd like to see again. And again. And maybe He wouldn't mind it being the last thing He saw before HYDRA found Him.

 

They won't though.

 

“Hey, you hear me talking to you?” Wilson looked confused... oh right. He met Wilson's eyes once more. “I know who you are, Winter Sol - “ He had to cut Wilson off there, that's not who He was. That's not someone He ever was. He shook his head.

 

“That's not my name – that's not who I am.” Wilson squinted at how harsh He had sounded cutting him off like that. God even this face he's making is making His stomach do somersaults.

 

“What's your name then?” What was His name? The Dickhead Brigade only called him The Asset. The Soldier. Not a name, but a thing to do for other people. He doesn't remember his own fucking name, where he comes from – his family. Friends that he may have had, things he liked to do – what he didn't like. He knew none of it, and the knowledge of not knowing leaves such an annoyingly desolate feeling deep within him. What he does know is... he'll never be the Winter Soldier again. And he couldn't look Wilson in the eye when he gave his answer.

 

“I don't know.” Wilson scoffs. The gun is still firm in his hands, but he's no longer shaking.

 

“Bullshit, how am I supposed to believe that? You don't just bust up in peoples' houses with a gun asking for help!” Wilson was challenging him.

 

He studied Wilson for what seemed a little too long, cold eyes inspecting him from head to toe. He could see his body stiffen and slightly retract under His gaze, adjusting his robe to hide anything that might be a little too present.

 

And without looking away, silently appreciating the thickness of Wilson's thighs -

 

“It's not loaded.” He says before their eyes meet again. Wilson blanched.

 

“ _Shit_!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'mma keep it real with y'all I have not watched a single Captain America or Avengers movie besides the first ones lmao anyway see y'all again in like 6 months probably


End file.
